


A Fereldan Rose

by ScentedStrangerCreation



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: 14 days of DA Lovers, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Roses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScentedStrangerCreation/pseuds/ScentedStrangerCreation
Summary: It's been a decade since the Blight, but Alistair still misses his Warden.
Relationships: Alistair/Amell (Dragon Age), Alistair/Brosca (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Surana (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Tabris (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Female Aeducan/Alistair (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 36





	A Fereldan Rose

“Fanfare, fanfare, etc. etc.,” Alistair waved a hand about lazily, “Signed, King Theirin.”

“Very good, your Majesty.”

“And don’t _actually_ write that. Say something nice.” Alistair swung his feet down from the desk to stand, “last time the Queen threatened to remove my— _well_ —my—,” he stammered, motioning vaguely at himself, “I’d just like to keep everything attached where it is.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” The woman bowed her head in a gesture that Alistair was certain had more to do with concealing her smile than respect.

“Alright, go on then.” He waved and turned away as the scribe left his chambers, shutting the door behind her.

He groaned, stretching his arms over his head as he moved about the room aimlessly. It had only been a week since the attack at the Conclave, and news had already gone from bad to worse. The Divine and countless others were dead, there was an all out war between mages and Templars, and what was that last one? Oh yeah, _demons were falling from the sky._

To think, he’d once believed surviving the Blight was a feat. They’d need nothing short of a miracle to make it out of this mess. He stopped pacing and walked over to his desk, shuffling through a pile of letters for the hundredth time.

Still no word from Leliana. He’d only just written, but in the wake of the Conclave, he waited anxiously for a reply. She was okay. She _had_ to be okay. He wouldn’t entertain anything else.

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed and sank back into his large, leather chair. Thedas was a mess, and the only person he could possibly imagine fixing it had already sacrificed herself to save it.

A deep ache pulsed in his chest at the thought of her. Whatever lying sod said time healed all wounds was…well, a lying sod. In his experience, you never really healed from loss, you just learned to live with it.

He pulled a worn, wooden box out of a drawer and set it on the desk in front of him. After a moment’s hesitation, he slowly cracked open the lid. Inside was an old, dried rose he didn’t dare touch anymore, and a small golden ring. He slowly picked up the ring and leaned back again, staring at the band in his hand. It was simple. _Too simple for someone like her_ , he remembered worrying when he’d gotten it.

He was going to ask her to marry him before…everything. Before Redcliffe, before the Landsmeet, before Denerim. Before she made her choice, and in doing so, took choice from him.

His throat constricted and he squeezed the ring in his palm. He wanted to be angry with her, and he was, a little. But mostly, he was angry with himself. Morrigan was right. He was a fool. He should have known better, should have known _her_ better.

_Maker, he missed her so much._

He placed the ring back in the box and returned it to its drawer. Taking several deep breaths, he closed his eyes as he drummed his fingers on the desk in a sort of meditation. Zevran had tried to teach him how to actually meditate once, but Alistair had never been much for sitting still. 

A knock at the door pulled him from his ambling thoughts, and he opened his eyes to see Anora entering the room.

“Napping, are we?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. He could never quite tell if she was annoyed or amused, but he usually suspected the former.

“Yes, well you know how cranky I get without one.”

She rolled her eyes, “Have you responded to Duke Cyril’s letter?”

He groaned, resting his head in his hands, “You don’t need to remind me a thousand times.”

“The nine hundred and ninety-nine other times I’ve reminded you suggest otherwise.”

He released a muffled sigh. He didn’t want to fight. “I’m sorry, I’ll get to it,” he looked up at her, “truly.”

She offered a single nod, but he could see her shoulders relax. She scanned him slowly, “Are you…are you alright?” the question tumbled out awkwardly.

“Fine,” he said, “Just tired.”

“Ah.” She crossed her arms and her eyes flickered down to the floor. After almost a decade together, she knew this mood well.

He could tell her inquiry was sincere, but he could also tell that neither of them really wanted to continue this conversation. It looked like she was just about to leave when a winded man rushed into the room.

“Your Majesties,” the messenger offered a hasty bow to each of them, “Apologies,” he panted, speaking between breaths, “There’s an urgent letter for King Alistair. From the Inquisition’s Spymaster.” 

“The Inquisition?” Anora asked, as Alistair accepted the letter.

“Yes. Lady Cassandra and—” the man’s explanation faded into the background as Alistair read and then reread the brief letter in his hand.

_A rose is a rare and wonderful thing to find in the darkness. Once, I believed the last rose in Ferelden perished with the Blight. Imagine my surprise to find that not just any rose, but your rose, still lives. You must share your gardening secrets. Come see us in Haven.  
__-Leliana_

Alistair’s heart skipped a beat, and the world suddenly slowed down around him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t stand. Fainting seemed inconvenient, so he tried casually leaning against the desk instead.

“Alistair?” Somewhere in the distance he could hear Anora.

Roses. His rose. _Her_.

“Alistair?” This time Anora was close, and she touched his shoulder.

Everything seemed to speed up at once, including his heart, which began beating at a pace that might have worried him if he’d been able to focus on anything but the letter in his hand. He straightened up from the desk, gently waving off her concern.

“It’s nothing—I, uh, need to…” he trailed off, not bothering to finish his sentence as he walked out the door, past a still-rambling messenger and a confused Queen Anora. 

His mind raced as he continued to study the letter, reading it over and over again. Leliana always wrote in frustrating flourishes and puzzles. She claimed the subterfuge was necessary, but he also suspected she enjoyed the theatrics. How could her words simultaneously be so clear yet so baffling? If she was saying what he _thought_ she was saying then…

He shook his head.

_It isn’t possible._

_It isn’t possible._

_It isn’t…possible._

_…Is it?_

He needed to get to Haven.


End file.
